


The Dragon's Wrath

by Abdcedfhijklmnopqrstuvwxyz



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Awesome Gwen (Merlin), BAMF Arthur, BAMF Gwen (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Camelot's preferred method of executing sorcerers, Dragonlord Merlin (Merlin), Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gaius is So Done (Merlin), Gen, Gwaine Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Magic Revealed, Merlin is a Little Shit, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Oblivious Arthur, Panic Attacks, Parent Gaius (Merlin), Post-Episode: s02e13 The Last Dragonlord, Protective Arthur, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Gwaine (Merlin), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Serious Injuries, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Touch-Starved, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29333361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abdcedfhijklmnopqrstuvwxyz/pseuds/Abdcedfhijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
Summary: Directionless, grieving, and convinced he is guilty of all the deaths caused by the dragon's attacks, Merlin is certain of only one thing--He needs to atone for his mistakes."If Kilgarah had lied about his promise to not attack Camelot, didn't that make the rest of it--the prophecy, the purpose for his magic, a future where magic was free--a lie too?"
Relationships: Arthur Pendragon & Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Balinor & Merlin (Merlin), Balinor/Hunith (Merlin), Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Gaius & Uther (Merlin), Gwen & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Hunith & Merlin (Merlin), Kilgharrah & Merlin (Merlin), Knights & Merlin (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Leon & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Leon & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 74





	1. Rebuilding Camelot

**Author's Note:**

> In which everyone in Camelot has a guilt complex and religious trauma and this has nothing to do with the author.
> 
> This fic will contain references to thoughts of suicide. Nothing graphic or specific, but please be warned. I'll put warnings at the beginning of any chapter where they appear with instructions on how to avoid them if you would prefer to skip those parts. We're in a pandemic--take care of yourselves!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Gwen struggle to rebuild the lower town after the Dragon's attacks.

Merlin threw the rope down and kicked his project in frustration, cursing and regretting his decision when the stone proved sturdier than his foot. He frowned at his sore, now soot-stained foot. Gaius would probably tell him he deserved that pain for kicking stone, no matter how charred.

Not that Merlin had any room to complain about a stubbed toe, he thought. Many in Camelot had far worse injuries from when the Dragon had attacked. Merlin was lucky to have gotten away with only a few small scrapes and burns and whatever other petty injuries he brought on himself.

He eyed his work one last time before deciding it was futile. He knew nothing about building wells, and it was stupid to think he could fix one without magic and in the dark. While the physician apprentice in him knew he would regret spending all night working on reconstruction, Merlin knew he would not be sleeping even if he had spent the night in his chambers. He might as well try to be as useful as possible—The lower town certainly needed all the help it could get, and he appreciated the distraction the work provided.

Remembering his plans to stay busy, Merlin looked up and did some quick calculations, figuring it was close enough to dawn to justify heading to Gwen’s house. He had promised to meet her at dawn to treat the people she had taken into her home, generous as she was.

As he struggled around debris left by Kilgharrah’s rampage, the young warlock tried to take stock of the state of this area of the lower town. Hopefully, if these residents’ need was especially dire, he could appeal to Arthur for help, and possibly make Gwen’s life easier in the process.

This task was difficult, however. The remnants of destruction and gore were hard to look at for long. Many devastated families were already up and working to salvage whatever of their lives they could in the light of the small fires that had yet to be extinguished. The atmosphere was heavy, the usually boisterous street silent with grief. Merlin could not deny feeling relieved when he finally reached Gwen’s home, located in an area less affected by the attacks than most, and was greeted by a friendly, relatively happy face.

It was nice to look into the face of someone who seemed genuinely excited to see him.

“Merlin! I didn’t expect you for another few hours at least, with the way the Prince always complains about you being late. What are you doing up this early?”

“I said dawn, didn’t I? Plus, I could ask you the same.”

Gwen had already done her hair, which Merlin had been informed was a time-intensive process if she wanted her curls to look right. She pulled him inside with a hug.

“Oh, hush, at least I didn’t have to get up in time to walk over here.” She began to step away. “Did you at least have breakfast?”

Merlin pretended he hadn’t heard the question, like he always did when Gwen asked about his eating habits. Instead, he stepped closer to properly return the hug, wrapping his arms a little too tightly around his friend. He could not seem to remember the last time he and Gwen had had a moment alone or bring himself to step away from her arms, where he could pretend nothing mattered and he was safe and cared for.

When Merlin felt he had dragged out the moment as long as he could, he stepped back, brushed out the wrinkles in his tunic, and jerked his head towards the haggard, half-asleep family lying on the floor across her main room.

“How are they?” he whispered, not eager to disturb them before he had to.

Gwen shifted her weight, suddenly nervous, frowning and matching his volume.

“Nothing too bad, but they have several burns, especially the youngest. I hate to put you out when you’re already so busy, but I had to bandage their burns, and, even though you and Gaius were great when you taught me how, I was worried I might have done it wrong, and I know infection—”

Merlin cut her off, knowing when Gwen was this nervous she could babble indefinitely.

“I’m sure you did it perfectly. You always do. But I’m always happy to double check if you think you need it.”

Flushed and still looking overly embarrassed, Gwen thanked him.

“I’ll go wake them.”

After a moment, she called Merlin over, directing him to a young boy who could not be more than ten, shirtless but almost completely covered in a neat array of cloth bandages, which Merlin vaguely recognized as having once been part of one of Gwen’s dresses. He turned to her and gave his best impression of Gaius’ eyebrow, concerned about exactly how many of her possessions might have been similarly “donated.”

Gwen ignored the look—She was just as good at avoiding discussions about her wellbeing as Merlin.

“His burns are pretty extensive and quite painful, but nothing deadly as far as I can tell.” She turned to give a large smile to the boy. “Young Matthew here has been incredibly brave about the whole thing.”

Mathew looked down at his lap and flushed to his ears. He smiled, but it was clear from the slump in his posture that he was in quite a bit of pain.

After Merlin explained to Matthew why he needed to remove and wash his bandages, he took a moment to curse Kilgharrah in his head. The boy’s torso was blistered horribly, and he would likely be scarred for life. Unfortunately, Merlin knew there was nothing he could do to help Matthew’s pain.

 _Useless_ , he thought, _all of it_ , but he could at least prevent an infection that would make things worse.

Merlin recruited Gwen to help clean Matthew’s wounds. Gwen insisted Merlin apply the poultice he had brought to prevent infection, but he made Gwen re-apply the new bandages, watching and assuring her she had done them correctly.

The whole time, they tried to distract Matthew with simple questions about his favorite games. The boy humored them, but his persistent teary eyes made the conversation stilted and heavy.

Merlin and Gwen repeated the process for Matthew’s two parents, who were thankfully covered in far fewer burns. They worked in silence, realizing quickly the adults were in no mood for small talk or petty distractions. The couple looked tired, hollow, and only half-aware they were being treated at all.

As Merlin tied off the final bandage on the father, he cleared his throat, thoroughly uncomfortable to be surrounded by such grief. As soon as he could, he stood and walked back towards Gwen’s door. She followed.

“Thank you again, Merlin. I know how busy you keep yourself, but this was a huge help.”

She smiled, but it was clear she was affected by the sadness of her guests as much as Merlin. He tried to return her smile as best he could anyway.

“No thanks needed. You can always ask me for help.”

Gwen huffed. “Well, I want to give you my thanks anyway, so you'd better accept it. I’d say goodbye but I’m sure I’ll end up in your chambers to help Gaius at some point today.”

She opened the door, and Merlin stepped outside.

“Well, we’ll definitely need it. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later. And say safe!”

Merlin gave an offended gasp. “Gwen, you know me. I’m a coward. I always stay as safe as I could possibly be!”

He turned and began his trek home with the sound of Gwen’s incredulous laughter behind him. It was a nice sound. It kept his steps light for most of his walk until he got closer to the castle, where the damage was worse.

The street before him looked horrible. The homes had been reduced to ash and rubble. Random half-charred remnants of cookware, clothes, and other small possessions littered the pathway. The area had been quickly evacuated due to the risk of injury from debris, which meant no one had come to clean up the blood splatter and other evidence of human injury left behind.

Merlin froze, staring at the rubble ahead, and debated whether he had the time and the stomach to clean some of the mess before work. He glanced at the sky and was only a little surprised to realize he was already late to wake Arthur.

Merlin decided to leave the mess behind, telling himself it was a purely practical decision. Most days, it seemed like efforts to restore the lower town moved at a snail’s pace, if not backward. Merlin wondered exactly how long his life would be dedicated to cleaning up the mess he had made and whether he would ever truly be done.

But these were maudlin thoughts. Merlin had a grumpy, overwhelmed, and hard-to-wake Prince he needed to feed and dress, which was far more important than standing around worrying over things he could not control. Not wanting to be any later than he already was, Merlin took off at a jog, keeping his eyes and thoughts on nothing but the castle in front of him.

* * *

Gwen was right. She did end up in Gaius’ chambers that afternoon, but Merlin was still off serving the Prince. Meanwhile, Gaius was instructing her in how to properly prepare the materials for the burn salve they were using for the most severe burn cases. The techniques were quite a bit more advanced than what she usually used, and now was not a moment they could afford for her to make a mistake. At the same time, Gwen worried she was working too slowly, constantly double-checking her measurements and asking Gaius to look over her work. The physician did not seem to mind, however, so she continued at her cautious pace.

Gwen was slowly pouring honey into her mortar, cautious, as she was close to reaching the correct measurement. However, when the door to Gaius’ chambers suddenly slammed open and violently crashed into the wall, she flinched, pushing a devastatingly large glob of honey into her mixture, rendering it useless. With a sigh, Gwen looked up to see the source of commotion.

Merlin was home, but he did not look happy. He slammed the door shut and furiously stormed to sit in a chair by the fire.

“Our glorious King has decided to disband his Council. Effective immediately.”

Gaius froze in his chopping, clearly torn between admonishing his ward for his language and shock at the news. Gwen susptected that, as a member of the Council himself, the Court Physician should not be learning such essential information from the angry rant of a servant.

Suddenly, the importance of what that information actually entailed dawned on Gwen.

“Suspend his council? Can he do that?”

Gaius nodded gravely.

“In a situation of emergency, the King may suspend his Council and declare temporary authority to act without consulting them. It is meant to be a tool for when immediate action is needed and deliberations might prevent a proper response to a crisis. Such a measure hasn't be used since the King began the purge, and… I worry what it means for him to have done so now.”

Gaius slowly lowered himself to sit on his bench. He looked weary, like he suddenly felt the full effects of the aging that most days seemed to have passed over him.

Gwen was vaguely aware of the rumors that Gaius had practiced magic before the Purge, but she could never picture such an established and respected member of the court as a sorcerer. She stayed quiet, unsure how to speak about such a fraught issue, and heavy silence filled the chambers.

Eventually, Gwen turned to look at her friend. Merlin looked pale and had a distant look to his gaze. She registered the tired hunch of his shoulders and light sheen of sweat spreading across his forehead. She wondered when the last time Merlin had slept a full night was. She should have known to try harder to get him to eat breakfast at her home this morning.

After a moment, Merlin seemed to come back to himself a little.

“I think even Arthur wasn’t happy about the decision, even though he would never say anything so specifically critical of his father. He was a right prat the rest of the day after the announcement, though.”

Gwen frowned. If this was making even the Prince, who loved for his father so completely, question the King’s decisions…

She cleared her throat.

“What does the King mean to do with his new powers?”

Gaius took a deep breath and rubbed his hand down his face.

“Based on what he proposed at the last Council meeting, I imagine he means to hunt for the person who released the dragon. He’s going to start a second Purge.”

* * *

On Gaius’ orders, Merlin was confined to his bed that night. Sitting with his back against the head of his bed, arms curled tightly around his legs, Merlin stared unseeingly at the door closing off his room. Distantly, he was aware he was shaking, but he hardly felt any of it. His fingers tapped rapidly against the side of his knee. Was he blinking? He could not be sure.

 _Gods_ , a second Purge. As if Merlin hadn’t wrought enough pain. As if he hadn’t betrayed his people enough.

A return of the pyres. The witch hunts. The ability to convict anyone of a capital crime without a drop of evidence. All because Kilgharrah had broken the promise that Merlin had so stupidly believed in, confident the dragon would never hurt Camelot and threaten the prophesized united Albion.

Suddenly, Merlin had a horrible thought.

If Kilgharrah had lied about his promise to not attack Camelot, didn't that make the rest of it--the prophecy, the purpose for his magic, a future where magic was free--a lie too?

After all, if the prophesy were real, Kilgharrah would never have risked attacking Camelot or hurting Arthur, whom he had very nearly killed. At the very least, he would not have turned on Merlin, or the people of Camelot, so completely.

 _Gods_ , Merlin had been every bit the idiot Arthur always said he was, believing in fanciful words of a dragon. Kilgharrah had clearly realized exactly how eager Merlin was for the freedom of magic. Merlin had been so completely obvious in his desperation, and Kilgharrah had played to that weakness expertly.

 _Oh_ , but it was even worse than that.

It was Kilgharrah who had convinced Merlin his magic might not be something to fear—more than that, that it might give even a clumsy, stupid peasant like himself some sort of greater purpose. What any of it true, or was magic truly the corrupting force Uther and his sycophants always claimed it to be?

Merlin let out a single gasping sob. He quickly bit down on his fist, determined not to wake Gaius.

How could magic be anything but evil? Look at the pain Merlin had caused with it, without even trying.

How could he be sure? There was no one the warlock could ask. It was pointless. Even if Kilgharrah had told the truth about magic, could Merlin ever atone for the damage he had caused with it? Maybe the ethical nature of magic was irrelevant when Merlin had already wielded it to harm others so severely. 

Realizing he was truly crying now, Merlin shifted moved to lie under his blanket, curling into the tightest ball possible. He slammed his pillow over his head, hoping to muffle the pathetic sounds he was making.

Destiny was dead. If there had ever been even the slightest chance that Arthur would one-day legalize magic, Merlin had utterly destroyed it the moment he cut Kilgharrah from his chains.

He would never be free.

He would be lucky if he survived the coming Purge.

In that moment, Merlin swore he would never fall for such hopeless fantasies again. He would no longer wield his magic so recklessly. He would keep his head down, try to survive, and do his best to clean up the mess he had made for as long as he was able.

Merlin curled further into himself, staring into the rough threads of his pillow. He stayed that way until he heard Gaius banging on his door, yelling that he was late to wake Arthur yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have most of this planned out, so I should be updating regularly. Comments make my day.


	2. Fighting Fire with Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Uther announces his new plans for Camelot, and the people react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Discussions of genocide, death of a parent, and execution by pyre.

At the sound of a hesitant knock on his chamber doors, Arthur aimed his empty inkwell, timing his throw to land the moment the door opened. He could not afford to tolerate Merlin’s usual laziness today.

However, the Prince was horrified to see that it was Gwen, and not Merlin, who had to duck to avoid being hit by the offending object. Gwen froze in her crouched position, apparently trying to process what had just happened. Behind her, Merlin, holding Arthur’s breakfast tray, smiled.

“Morning to you too, sire. It’s a good thing you’re already dressed. You have guests.”

“Yes, I can see that, Merlin. If only I had a servant to help me get ready in the mornings. Before any guests arrived in my chambers."

Merlin pushed through the door and set down the tray on top of the document Arthur had been reading. The servant moved to set the drinks and dishware in their proper places, one of the few parts of his job he tended to get right most days.

“Oh, don’t worry so much. It’s only Gwen. We like Gwen—she’s not as stuffy as the rest of court.”

“Right. Well, while I’m always glad to see her, is there a particular reason you’re brought Gwen to my chambers before I’ve even had breakfast?”

At the reminder of food, the Prince picked up a fork, but then paused, remembering the discussions of increased food rationing at the last Council meeting.

“And have you both had breakfast?”

This prompted a warm smile from Merlin.

“Yes, sire. Gaius made sure we both ate before we left.”

Knowing Merlin used Gaius as an excuse whenever he was lying, Arthur quirked an eyebrow and looked to Gwen for verification. This provoked a fake outraged gasp from Merlin, who was now dramatically hunched over and clutching his chest like it was in pain.

Stifling a laugh behind her hand, Gwen nodded.

“Yes, sire, we’ve eaten.”

Arthur nodded, feeling better about beginning his own meal. He took a minute to chew, watching as Merlin and Gwen entered a silent argument over who would have to be the one to tell him about whatever they were scheming. Arthur bet on Gwen winning and was unashamed to admit he felt quite smug when he was proven right. He watched his servant flashed Gwen a betrayed look before turning back to the Prince.

“Arthur, Gwen has some great ideas about how we could better deploy the Knights to the lower town. Since she lives and works there, she knows exactly where to send the Knights so they'll be working where they're most needed.”

The Prince glanced at Gwen, who nodded but did not look particularly confident to be doing so. It was clear that this had been Merlin’s idea, but, still, Arthur trusted Gwen to know best on this matter. He decided to try to settle her nerves some.

“That sounds like a lovely idea. Gwen, maybe we could go on a walk through the lower town, and you could show me where you think our resources are most needed?”

She nodded, somewhat frantically.

“Yes, of course, sire. I would be honored, I mean, not that—”

“It’s not an interrogation, Gwen. You live in the lower town. I’m sure you’re more than capable of showing me what the people there need most.”

Her shoulders lost some of their tension. From behind her, Merlin smiled at Arthur approvingly and even shot him a subtle thumb’s-up. Arthur barely managed to avoid visibly rolling his eyes.

“I have training and then lunch with the King. I’ll summon you after?”

Gwen smiled. “Sounds great, sire.”

At this, Merlin cut in. “Could I meet you at lunch, Arthur? I’d promised I’d help show Gwen some splinting techniques today.”

Normally, Arthur would come up with any excuse to force Merlin to attend and humiliate himself at the Knight’s training, but this _was_ for a good cause.

“That’s fine. Meet me at the main dining hall before noon. I’m sure I’ll survive without you both until then.”

With a bow and a curtsy, the two servants excused themselves. Arthur followed soon after, eager to work out the rest of his anxiety with some intense workouts sure to making even his best knights regret ever being born. Finally realizing exactly what exercises he wanted to run today, Arthur smiled.

Gwaine was going to kill him.

* * *

Training was fantastic, which was a blessing, what with lunch afterward being such a complete disaster.

Rather than Morgana, Leon had been invited to join Arthur and the King in the main dining room, confirming to Arthur that this was a meeting, rather than a family meal. Clearly, Leon and Arthur were the closest thing to a council the King would tolerate right now—a privilege they could afford to waste.

As expected, as soon as the proper greetings had been exchanged, the King laid out his reasons for summoning them.

“The dragon’s attack is only the latest in a series of escalating attacks against the very foundation of the kingdom. Clearly, I have become lax on the issue of magic. I fear our people have forgotten the cost of turning to the dark arts, and now they are learning their lesson the hard way. Things cannot continue in this manner. I will not be so merciful as I was in the first Purge—We cannot risk a further resurgence. Like weeds, magic must be pulled from Camelot by the very roots.”

Father’s personal servant, who normally blended into the background so seamlessly that Arthur had never even learned his name, jumped in to take the wine from Merlin, who had been preparing to refill Arthur’s goblet. Arthur thought this strange until he noticed the shaking in his own servants’ hands. Then, he only felt grateful he had been spared Merlin’s attempt at refilling his drink, which was a risky endeavor on his servant’s best days.

Still, Arthur made a note to give Merlin some time off. He had clearly been working far too hard with Gaius in his off-hours, and he looked terrible.

Merlin gave the other servant a grateful look as he handed off the wine. With his newly freed hands, he went to serve Arthur and the King their main course of stew. The sound of the metal bowl settling on the wooden table in front of Arthur reminded him that the King was still speaking.

“But recruiting the best witchfinders will take time. Until then, you will deploy all your nights towards the search for the fiend who released the dragon and rooting out any further magical attacks our enemies may be planning.”

This brought Arthur up short.

“The Knights are currently helping rebuild the lower town, which—”

The King’s look turned dark.

“Which is why I am now telling you to reassign them. While the lower town does need assistance, this is far more important. Our efforts will be wasted if we cannot prevent another magical attack from destroying any progress we make in rebuilding our city. Once the knights have caught the main culprit and the witchfinders begin their hunt, we can redeploy some of your men back to volunteering in the reconstruction efforts.”

From behind his father, Merlin sent Arthur a significant look. Arthur could not risk returning it, but Leon spoke up for him anyway.

“Sire, if I may, I fear that with the upcoming winter—”

“I’m afraid, Sir Leon, that this is not up for discussion, and I do not appreciate being challenged on the matter.”

Leon bowed his head. The three continued to eat in tense silence, surrounded by only the sounds of spoons scraping bowls.

Eventually, the King spoke up again, sounding somewhat exasperated.

“I can tell you both feel strongly about this. If you must, keep twenty men working in the lower town. You may choose which twenty that will be, but we cannot afford to spare any more than that.”

At this, Arthur put on his best court smile.

“Thank you, sire. That is quite generous.”

“Yes, well, do not let it distract you from your main goal, which must be capturing the sorcerers infecting our kingdom.”

“Of course, sire.”

Arthur finished his meal as quickly as etiquette would allow. He suspected Leon was doing the same. With a look to confirm his First Knight had nothing left to say, he pushed his chair back and stood.

“I’m going to tour the lower town this evening. To take stock of the state of things myself.”

Uther did not seem particularly impressed with this plan but had apparently decided the conversation had dragged on long enough.

“Very good.”

And with a nod, the Prince, Knight, and Servant were dismissed.

Arthur wished he could slam the door behind him like Morgana was known to do. Merlin always handled the doorways for him, though. Plus, he reminded himself, he could not risk the consequences to Camelot for a petty moment of anger.

What a shame.

* * *

Merlin kept silent as they traveled back to Arthur’s chambers, knowing from the tension in Arthur’s shoulders that his usual cheek would not be tolerated right then.

Of course, Merlin was not feeling particularly emotionally stable at the moment either, so he supposed he could forgive the prince for his moodiness. As soon as he closed the doors to Arthur’s chambers behind them, he spoke.

“You can’t let him do this.”

Of course, Arthur knew exactly what he meant.

“He is the King. I do not _let_ him do anything.”

Merlin leaned his head against the door.

“But you’re the prince. Surely you can—”

The Prince cut him off.

“Surely nothing. I have my orders. It is not my place to question them.”

Oh, this was ridiculous. He turned to face the Prince directly.

“Of course, it is! You’re the prince!”

From the Prince’s face, that was exactly the worst thing to say.

“You’re a fool if that’s how you think this works.”

Arthur himself turned away, walking over to his window and looking to the courtyard below, but Merlin would not be ignored.

“You know your people will suffer.”

A huff. “They already suffer. We will do our best to help—"

“With only twenty men? What help could they possibly be?”

“More than the people would receive otherwise.”

Merlin took a deep breath, debating his next words carefully.

“It’s not enough.”

“We will make it enough.”

“How? It’s not possible. People are homeless, and when winter fully hits—”

“Enough. These are terrible times, but we will do our best to help our people as much as we can.” Gods, Arthur was speaking to him like he did to councilors he disliked but needed to appease. Merlin hated it.

“It won’t be enough. You know it won’t.”

“No, I cannot know that, and neither can you.” Turning away from the window to watch Merlin out of the corner of his eye, the Prince assessed Merlin the same way he looked at a sparring opponent, with a glare only slightly less deadly than the looks he gave his enemies in battle.

“Yes, you can. I saw you at the table. You know this plan is stupid—”

“Careful, you are speaking of the King. You will show him the respect he deserves.”

As if that was the sort of thing that would convince Merlin to be quiet.

“I’ll show him respect when he earns it.”

The prince slammed the side of his fist against the wall.

“Stop! I do not want to hear another word on this.”

Matching the Prince’s louder tone, Merlin marched forward.

“No, we need a better plan! We need more men! What happens if we fail?

“Then we fail!”

Merlin halted in his path forward, genuinely shocked to hear such a thing.

“That’s it? ‘Then we fail?’ Do you plan to live your entire life without once arguing for what you believe in? Smiling, nodding, agreeing with whatever the King says, even when you know his decisions will hurt your people? And you call yourself a prince? This is your father we’re talking about. You can stand up to him, or, gods, just talk to him properly for once in your life!”

He was truly yelling now, and the sounds echoed harshly through the surrounding chambers, made louder by the Prince’s responding silence. When the Prince finally did speak again, his voice was completely calm. He spoke hardly louder than a whisper, but Merlin still heard every syllable.

“Oh? And what would you know of what it means to stand up to one’s father, having never had one of worth yourself?”

_Oh._

Merlin had reached his limit. He shut his mouth with an audible click, turning towards the fireplace and hoping the angle was enough to hide the look on his face. He clasped his hands behind his back, focusing on biting his tongue and trying not to break down before he was dismissed. No need to dig himself an even deeper grave—

Merlin physically winced before he could finish the thought. Because, of course, the first time the Prince chose to mock Merlin for being a bastard would be just days after he had buried his father in a shallow, hastily hand-dug grave.

It made sense that this was happening now. It might have even been funny, if it did not hurt so much.

The Prince always did have perfect timing in a fight.

When he spoke with servants from visiting kingdoms, Merlin loved to brag that the Prince could identify any enemy’s weakness in a matter of seconds. He had been referring to his sword fighting, of course, but it made sense that the Prince would be able to wield words in the same way. Merlin had not been prepared to have the full weight of the Prince’s wrath turned against him, but, probably, he should have been.

Still determinedly staring into the fireplace, Merlin watched as a nearly burnt log finally split in two, sending a shower of sparks as it crashed toward the grate. It made a satisfying sound as the fire flared from the shifting pressure.

There was too much fire in Camelot these days, but it might have been nice, Merlin thought, if he could have given Balinor a funeral pyre. Well, maybe not a pyre, but some sort of proper grave. Even just a quick funeral. Something to say goodbye to the father he had met just days before he died. Merlin desperately wished he knew the final rights of the Old Religion, but he hadn’t had time to ask Gaius about them, and—

 _Oh._ He was going to have to tell his mother Balinor was dead, wasn’t he?

This was not a chain of thought Merlin could afford to have in the Prince’s chambers. He reminded himself of the Prince’s words—that no man was worth his tears—and told himself that they were a comfort. He swore to himself he would be as strong as the knights, who saw people they loved die almost daily but never seemed to be as affected as Merlin was now.

Eventually, Merlin could hear the Prince back away from the window. He continued to stare unseeingly at the fireplace. He would need to grab some more wood for it again soon. It was too cold to risk letting the fire die down.

The Prince cursed under his breath as he finally faced Merlin, something he did rarely enough to startle the warlock into turning away from the fire.

The Prince looked stricken. The moment he saw the Prince’s face, Merlin felt his anger, which just moments ago had seemed so ready to spill over into something terrible, wash away into numbness.

“Christ, Merlin. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that—I mean, you’re right. Only twenty men. How can we possibly…”

The Prince signed and rubbed his right eye for a long moment. No longer angry, he just seemed incredibly tired. When he looked back at Merlin, he seemed to shrink in on himself, as much as a man as muscular as the Prince could ever be said to shrink.

“Are you ok?”

At the change in the Prince’s tone, Merlin tried his best to also straighten into a somewhat less-defensive posture. He nodded, distantly aware it was a rather harsh, jerky motion.

“Fine. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.”

The Prince’s frown deepened.

“You’re crying.”

This was news to Merlin. He quickly reached up to touch his cheek and was shocked to see his fingers come away wet. Merlin quietly repeated the Prince’s curse and hurriedly tried to scrub away the evidence from his face. The Prince allowed him a moment to collect himself.

“I’m sorry.”

Merlin did his best to smile at this, but his eyes were still stinging, so he suspected the final look was rather hollow. He reminded himself he could break down once he was no longer at work, standing before the Prince of Camelot and speaking treason against his king.

“You said that already. I don’t think you’ve ever apologized to me before, and now twice in one day. If I didn’t already, now I know we must be living in strange times, sire.”

The Prince did not accept his attempt at deflection like he usually did.

“I should not have said that. I know to have grown up—” he trailed off. Normally perfectly articulate, the Prince seemed unable to find words to describe the plight of poor bastard peasants like himself. After watching him struggle for a moment, Merlin took pity.

“We were fighting. You’re under a lot of pressure. I know you didn’t mean it.”

He still could not bring himself to look Arthur properly in the eye.

The Prince let out a heavy sigh. He scrubbed his hands down his face.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off. Rest. Help Gaius. Whatever you need to get done.”

Unsure if this dismissal was an apology or excuse to get him out of the room, Merlin bowed.

“What time should I wake you tomorrow, sire?”

Using the Prince's title this much was probably a mistake. The Prince could clearly see right through the reasons for his sudden formality, but, thankfully, he did not comment on it.

“I know you’ve been tired, but I need you here an hour before dawn. We have too much to get done to be sleeping in.”

Merlin nodded and backed out of the Prince’s chambers. He would take the time to write a letter to his mother tonight, explain everything that had happened, and then he would move on. He had no time to continue brooding over things he could not change, and Balinor’s death was certainly not something he could fix.

It was just like the Prince had said, he had too much to get done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love that the number one response to my first attempt at angst wasn't "This is sad" but instead "This makes a lot of sense, great logic." Either my characters are all just as emotionally constipated as I am, or we all need some therapy. You guys are the best!


	3. Lessons in governance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur begin to learn the true nature of Camelot.

Arthur’s tour of the lower town with Gwen was a decent distraction but did little for his mood.

Currently, Arthur stood before a pile of sticks and rubble that was once a family’s home—a family that worked in the castle’s kitchens, according to Gwen—staring at the embers still burring among the mess in dismay. He was coming to realize that the state of the lower town was far worse than the reports he had received suggested, despite the already dismal picture they had painted.

 _Twenty men?_ His father expected him to fix this with only twenty men?

Arthur tried not to let the creeping despondency show on his face. He could feel the eyes of scattered individuals and families on him. Some tried to maintain the pretense that they were somehow near him to work on some urgent chore, but most had given up and were now staring openly.

This was nothing particularly new for the Prince, but the weight of their desperation and the overwhelming certainty that _he had no idea how to fix this_ made the weight of his peoples’ gaze heavier than usual.

Eventually, he was interrupted in his brooding, which was probably for the best. His thoughts were spiraling more than he usually preferred to let them.

“Sire, can I ask…”

He turned away from the ruined house towards his guide.

“Anything, Gwen.”

“I hope I’m not prying, but I was just wondering… Well—” Gwen took a deep breath, starting her statement over. “What happened between you and Merlin before you dismissed him? I saw him when he returned to Gaius’, and he looked… more upset than usual. Not to assume—But, well, that usually means there’s something going on between you two.”

Arthur did not want to have this conversation, but Gwen would probably find out from Merlin himself anyway. Best not drag out the issue longer than it needed to be one.

“He challenged me. Said I should have challenged my father then and there at the dining table. And… I—I said things about him I shouldn’t have.”

Arthur looked away. He had never able to bear much of Gwen’s disapproving glare, which could cower even the bravest night.

“I apologized. He accepted my apology. I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“Merlin’s a forgiving sort. I’m sure you’ll both work through this.”

This was little comfort to Arthur.

“I know. He forgives me a lot. I just hate feeling so powerless, but I know that’s no excuse to take it out on Merlin.”

For some reason, this seemed to make Gwen more upset. Her jaw physically tightened. Arthur’s heart dropped.

“What, what did I say?”

Gwen’s face quickly lost any traces of anger, turning into what Merlin called “servant blank.”

“Nothing, my lord. I think I’m just tired.”

Stopping his pace, Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“No, Gwen, please speak freely. I’m sure it’s something I need to hear, even though I’m sure I won’t like it.”

Apparently, that was all the permission Gwen needed. She turned on him with an anger that she had clearly been holding in for some time.

“It’s just—You’re the Prince. If you challenge the King, you get scolded. If someone like Merlin or I challenge the King, we’re lucky to keep our heads. That’s true powerlessness. And as a woman, I’m lucky if a noble even acknowledges me with anything other than a request to clean or to eye me like I’m a piece of meat. It’s great that you listen to Merlin and to me—which is far more than most Nobles—but if you won’t speak up for us, then what’s the point? Who will?”

Arthur frowned. It seemed all the commoners were united against him on this today.

“You can petition the nobility at any time. Even myself and the King, if the issue is large enough. Do you truly feel we ignore you so much?”

Gwen laughed, a desperate sound.

“I don’t feel ignored when tax season arrives, certainly. But, besides then, it really depends on the noble in question and what we need help with. Most don’t help much. As a maid, especially, I doubt I could get anyone to provide help for the lower town, even for smaller issues like cleaning up the mess in our streets.”

She paused and looked away.

“Um… sire.”

Gwen looked so incredibly weary in that moment, weighed down by a helplessness she usually didn’t let Arthur see.

The Prince felt the full weight of his crown in that moment. Every day, it seemed, he learned of another issue in desperate need of correction and no clear solution. However, he was coming to realize that many centered around the treatment of the common people of Camelot, who seemed to have little power to protect themselves from abuse or crises like the one they faced this week, and seemingly every other week in this magic-infested city.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I know your father can be…”

“Harsh, unbending, completely unswayed by reason or empathy once he’s chosen a given path?”

Gwen snorted.

“I couldn’t possibly speak so ill of the King. But, still. He’s your father. It can’t be easy to tell him no.”

At this, Arthur turned more serious. He turned back to face the street ahead and tried to rub some warmth back into his freezing arms. It was far too cold for so many of his people to be without homes.

“No, it’s not.”

They continued in heavy silence for a moment. Arthur focused on regulating his breathing until the swirling in his stomach had mostly subsided.

“You’re a good advisor, Gwen.”

Hearing this, Gwen suddenly tripped over a sizable chuck of stone. Arthur reached out to catch her arm before she fell completely, pleased to see the happy embarrassment crossing her face at his compliment.

As they continued, Gwen pointing out still-burning flame or homes in particular need, giving suggestions for what issues needed to be addressed first. Arthur took mental notes of her advice, agreeing with much of what she suggested and making plans for how to best use the few knights he could still deploy for rebuilding.

They passed a group of children, using what looked like half-burnt pieces of wood to improvise a snowless-snowball fight. Despite the devastation that surrounded them, they laughed and seemed to be genuinely happy. It was a sound Arthur hadn’t expected to hear, in the middle of a destroyed street, but it was nice anyway.

Making his way past the crowd, Arthur turned to watch Gwen from the corner of his eye, gathering the courage to ask the question burning in the back of his mind.

“Gwen, do you feel like you can come to me, when you need it?”

Gwen halted in the middle of her next step. Her response was immediate and sure.

“Of course, I do.”

She spoke like she thought this was a stupid question.

“You’re incredible at supporting your people, sire, truly, and we can tell that you care for our wellbeing. But, when it comes to the nobility of Camelot, that really makes you an exception, more than a rule.”

Arthur lightly touched Gwen’s shoulders, turning her to face him and waiting until she met his eyes fully.

“That will change when I am King. I give you my word.”

Gwen looked shocked at his promise, apparently speechless, which was rare for her. Some part of Arthur felt her surprise at such a promise should have been insulting to his honor, but, truly, it only left him feeling hollow and sad.

“And I promise I’ll talk to Merlin, and actually listen to him this time, the next time I see him.”

At this, Gwen smiled, which lifted Arthur’s spirits some. He had needed a moment like this.

* * *

Meanwhile, Merlin’s spirits were far more strained.

Immediately following his argument with Arthur, he had stormed back to his chambers, embarrassed when he stopped through the door only to see a shocked jump from Gwen and a judgmental eyebrow from Gaius.

“Merlin! Um… were you—are you crying?”

Gwen set down her pestle, looking concerned. Sometimes, Merlin really hated her ability to notice in him what most of Camelot would ignore.

“No, no. I’m just cold and tired from sprinting back here to get warm. The Prince is ready for you, though.”

Merlin began walking forwards, meaning to see what on Gaius’ desk he could help with. Gwen eyed him suspiciously the whole way.

“I think you were. And that’s your fighting with Arthur face.”

Merlin looked up from watching his mentor stir a suspiciously slimy-yet-thick mixture.

“My what?”

Gwen crossed her arms. She pointed a finger at him and indicated a circle around his face.

“That’s the face you make when you’ve been fighting with Arthur. He makes the same one when he’s mad at you. I think I’d recognize it—being the one you both go to complain to about each other. What happened between you two?”

Merlin did not know whether to laugh or flee to his room. Was his face really that easy to read? That could be an issue if—

The rest of Gwen’s statement hit him.

Arthur had a “fighting with Merlin face?” Did the Prince really talk about him enough that Gwen would recognize what such a look was?

Well, Merlin supposed, he himself did not need much imagination to picture what Arthur looked like when angry with him after this morning. Gwen looked fully prepared to describe Arthur’s preferred facial expressions in detail, though, so Merlin decided to cut her off, not wanting to think any more about the Prince’s anger.

“Well, if you’re right, you probably want to get to him as soon as possible. I don’t want to learn what Arthur’s ‘Angry at Gwen’ face looks like, and he’s already in a mood.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and began tidying up the tools she had been working with, but Merlin stepped in to take over her workspace.

“You’re lucky I love you, Merlin, despite being the least persuasive liar I’ve ever met. One day, I’ll have to teach you how to properly deflect a question. You won’t survive at court much longer without at least knowing how to spin a convincing lie.”

Merlin smiled and forced himself to make eye contact with his friend. He prayed Gwen, with her sudden powers to apparently read his every thought, did not see how nervous the thought of her knowing when Merlin was lying made him.

Eager to end the conversation, Merlin began ushering Gwen towards the door. Taking a closer look at Gwen’s face as he did, Merlin was also beginning to suspect Gwen was deflecting the conversation herself, likely nervous about her ability to guide Arthur through the lower town.

“Later. First, you need to go educate the Prince on exactly what he needs to do to save Camelot.”

She laughed, and, like he had suspected, her voice had a shrill, nervous quality.

“Oh, alright. I’m off to go save Camelot with no training or proper plan, then. Seems easy. No pressure, there.”

Merlin’s smile turned more genuine. That was a feeling he could relate to.

“Yes, only that. Now, shoo. I expect you to let us know how it goes! If the prat doesn’t take you seriously, I’ll make sure to slap some proper sense into him later.”

He pushed Gwen out the door properly.

“Fine, fine. I know you will. Thanks, Merlin!”

Merlin smiled and waved Gwen off, only a little jealous to see her grab her many layers of skirts and take off down the stairs with more grace and speed than he could ever manage.

The moment Merlin was sure Gwen could no longer see him, he dropped his smile and felt the tension return to his shoulders. He closed the door turned around to lean against it, unsurprised to see Gaius watching him with an expectant look. Before Merlin could figure out what to say, Gaius smirked and mimicked Gwen’s tone.

“‘The least persuasive liar I’ve ever met.’ I remember calling you something similar recently. Perhaps you should take Gwen up on her offer of lessons.”

Merlin dropped his gaze to his feet. He really needed to do something about his boots, which were not handling the current lack of rubble-free roads well.

“Right. Maybe I will. Make sure I survive at court, like she said.”

Merlin had hoped to make the issue into a dark joke. His voice betrayed his nerves, though, so it just made the atmosphere tense as both men were reminded of what was at stake.

“Merlin…”

Merlin continued staring at his shoes. Gaius sighed. The two stood in uncomfortable silence for a long moment.

Merlin wondered if he could avoid dragging Gaius into his current problems with Arthur. It would be the right thing to do. It was not Gaius’ job to listen to his problems, certainly, or help him clean up his mess when the physician was already overwhelmed treating the people Merlin had hurt.

At the same time, Merlin knew he was far too naive to deal with this on his own, and he worried what further destruction he could cause if left to his own devices. He really had no one else to turn to.

Merlin glanced briefly as his mentor, hoping to gauge his mood. Gaius looked far too weary to be dealing with this, likely he worried about his ward and struggling to help the lower town while Merlin neglected his duties as an apprentice, like usual. Merlin resolved he would do more to help him with his current work for the lower town. Gaius was already suffering because of Merlin’s mistakes. The very least Merlin could do was avoid giving him even more work on top of what he had already saddled Gaius with.

Eventually, Gaius broke their standoff.

“What happened?”

Merlin shrugged, not sure which question swirling through his mind was most important.

“How do you get Uther to stop being a complete prat, when, you know, being his usual self at Council meetings?”

Gaius took a seat and gestured for Merlin to join him across the table.

“Well, normally I would appeal to his sense of reason…”

Merlin laughed, earning a disapproving look from Gaius.

“But on issues of magic, there is little I can do. He does not trust me for much on the issue except maybe treating the occasional magical disease or researching any odd creatures. Why do you ask?”

Merlin leaned forward to rest his head on the table.

“Arthur’s being more of a jerk than usual. I was hoping you had a potion for that we could give him.”

“A shame I do not, then, but I doubt that is the real issue bothering you.”

Merlin glanced up, keeping his head where it was. Gaius looked nothing but patient. Merlin decided to push his luck.

“What’s the death count so far?”

At this, Gaius’ scowled. “I haven’t changed my mind; I won’t be telling you that. You aren’t well, Merlin, and it’s clear the guilt you carry—unnecessarily, might I add—from releasing the dragon is doing you no good. I won’t add to it.

“I need to know for my own peace of mind, Gaius.”

Merlin sat back up fully but kept his eyes on the table.

“It’s all I think about. I keep worrying about it, and I think not knowing is allowing me to picture the worst-case scenario. Will you at least tell me if it’s less than a hundred? Please?”

His voice cracked at the end, making Merlin wince.

Gaius, when he replied, sounded somewhat astonished.

“Over a hundred? Is that what you’ve been picturing? Of course, it’s less than that. Far too many, but nothing quite that dire.”

Merlin attempted a smile. Knowing Gaius, the number of dead might be ninety-nine, and he would give that exact response if he thought it would make Merlin feel better. Still, knowing the casualties were fewer than he feared was not the relief Merlin had hoped it would be.

After a long moment, Merlin realized why he still felt too anxious.

“How many died in the first Purge? Do you think more will survive this time?”

Merlin regretted the question as soon as he spoke. Gaius never spoke of the Great Purge beyond vague allusions to the fear that had taken over Camelot during those years. Even now, his mentor looked pained to even consider the question, and it hurt to see.

But, to Merlin’s surprise, for once, he got an answer.

“A few thousand at least. There weren’t any good records kept, so I can’t give you a better number than that. I cannot imagine the King could hunt anywhere close to that number of people, this time. There simply aren’t enough magic users left. I suspect only a few dozen of us might remain in Camelot.”

“Will you tell me what happened? Just the parts I need to try to predict what Uther might do next. Please.”

Gaius let out a long sigh.

“Yes, I suppose it’s time you learn."

Merlin let out a generic hum of agreement, not wanting to express the tangle of emotions he felt at the chance to finally learn this history. He covered his nerves by getting up to make the two of them tea.

Eventually, he returned with what would better be described as wooden bowls than proper teacups. Everything he and Gaius owned was designed for multiple uses, and most of their cookware was repurposed—and very carefully cleaned—medical equipment of some sort. It made Merlin’s job of remembering how to set the noble’s tables even more difficult, sometimes, but he did not truly mind. Everything was far nicer quality than he had ever seen in Ealdor.

Gaius thanked him for the tea, not commenting on the fact that Merlin had chosen one of their strongest relaxant brews—the one they gave patients who needed to stay conscious while they performed some of their more painful procedures. Merlin briefly wished he had some mead for this conversation, but neither he nor Gaius ever truly drank, having too many secrets to keep and last-minute patients to treat to ever relax that much.

Gwaine had been trying harder than usual recently to get Merlin to join him for a drink. Merlin had declined every offer so far, not trusting he would be able to pace himself right now. He made up for it by quickly downing his tea instead, before quickly returning to pour himself another cup. Gaius said nothing, but Merlin could feel himself being watched the whole time.

“The Purge didn’t happen overnight. It took some serious time and effort to turn the people of Camelot against magic users. Even longer to get to the point where those with magic could be burnt without much fanfare or even a trial or evidence.”

This was news to Merlin. He had always sort of pictured Uther waking up one morning after his wife’s death and announcing without preamble that all his people were to be burnt.

“Before the pyres were lit, the Purge was merely an idea, barely even a question, really. After all, the King could hardly announce the mass execution of an entire population out of the blue without expecting some sort of backlash from the people. I believe it started with the philosophers and academics who first began to debate the nature and uses of magic after Igraine died. The King began collecting testimony from anyone who had been hurt by magic, and he created a movement among the common people centered around sharing the dangers of magic, some of which were true.”

Gaius spoke like he was reading a researcher’s summary of some far-off land.

“Eventually, the Royal Family officially aligned itself with the New Religion, and this became the standard practice for the entire citadel. The New Religion became a source of identity, and many people began to fell like it gave them something to belong to, something that made them special, and, certainly, somehow superior to the “backwards” and dangerous beliefs of the Old Religion.”

Gaius went to worship services of the New Religion every week, and he had always insisted Merlin join him. Deep down, Merlin had known this was a survival technique for them both, more than an expression of true belief, but he could not imagine a Camelot where such a thing was unnecessary.

“Eventually, a group of nobles, led by the King, organized around the belief in the superiority of the New Religion above the practice of magic. They said they were afraid for the future of Camelot, which they saw as falling into a state of lawlessness. They painted magic users as defiant of natural law, especially regarding the Old Religions’ relatively egalitarian treatment of men and women, and as a source of divisiveness, leading sorcerers to become loyal only to themselves and their power, rather than the kingdom. They made it easy for most to view Camelot as falling victim to attacks by powerful, immoral outsiders with magic, even though Magic had been a part of this land longer than Camelot itself.”

“Once they were truly organized enough to influence power across the Kingdom, members of this movement began increasing penalties for crimes when committed with magic. The surveilled scholars, temples, and schools of the Old Religion, claiming they needed to ensure we were not planning to betray the kingdom. Eventually, anyone who made a study of the Old Religion came under suspicion, whether they had magic or not. This was when I chose to give up my own magic. Few in the citadel or the lower town would have trusted me to treat them otherwise. I think it is only because I gave up my connections to the Old Religion so early that the King ultimately let me live.”

Gaius took a moment to drink his tea, looking like he was struggling. Despite being incredibly eager to hear more, Merlin could not bring himself to push his mentor. To keep himself, occupied, Merlin got up to refill Gaius’ tea, hoping it would help.

“Things continued to get worse for some time. Eventually, it felt like the entire kingdom was divided into two societies, magic and not. Magic users were increasingly isolated, which did not help their standing in the Kingdom. Many had already been executed or banished under the new laws for petty crimes.

However, despite that, many in Camelot believed that magic was a bigger threat than ever before. The principles of the New Religion hardly seemed to matter in those years, except to the extent they could be used to show opposition to magic and the Old Religion. That was the most important thing—not being a magic user. The people were so scared, turning on their own neighbors and families.

King Uther was heralded as Camelot’s only possible savior from magic. The King’s power was nearly absolute, and it was not much farther of a leap for the people to hope he would use it to banish magic from our borders by any means. When magic was finally banned outright, Camelot celebrated for weeks. The witch-hunts started that very night, and the pyres were lit soon after. They burned for months.”

This was more detail than Merlin had ever heard. It was generally not safe, nor easy, to discuss the Purge, and he could tell it had cost Gaius seriously to tell him this. However, Merlin did not know what to say to make his guardian feel better.

He found himself unable to speak, in any case, as he took in the sheer scope of the story Gaius had told him. It was one thing to try to undo a single law and make magic legal again. How could he possibly undo the creation of a society which was fundamentally organized around the belief that it was superior to his own people? He was only just now beginning to understand exactly how foolish he had been to ever listen to Kilgarrah.

 _Stupid._ Well, he knew better now.

“I think I need to give up my magic too, Gaius.”

His mentor looked pained.

“Are you certain, my boy? Magic for me was largely a hobby, really just a tool to supplement my healing. It was no large sacrifice for me to give it up. But for you? You love it, Merlin, and you are truly doing great things with your powers.”

Merlin snorted.

“Great things. Yes, clearly, I am nothing but an asset to Camelot.”

Merlin could tell that Gaius about to argue once again that the aftermath of the dragon’s attack was not his fault. It was a fight they had had several times in the past few days. Merlin could not stand the thought of going through it again.

“No, I’ve always been too reckless with my magic, and, even if I could only use it for good, I don’t have enough tools or texts to ever learn how to practice it safely.”

Unable to sit still any longer, Merlin stood and began pacing.

“I’m tired of hurting people, Gaius, and I’m tired of using my powers to help a kingdom that wants me dead. Not just dead—killed painfully and for sport.”

Merlin needed out. He was desperate to end this conversation. He did not want to hear whatever lecture from Gaius was surely brewing.

“No, no more. I won’t do it. It would be better for everyone if I had never had magic at all.”

Merlin grabbed his jacket and pulled it on.

“Merlin! Where are you going?”

He walked to the door before he could catch Gaius’ look, but he paused with his hand on the handle.

“I have work in the lower town. Thanks…well, for telling me all that. I’ll see you later, Gaius.”

He stepped out the door.

It was an abrupt exit, one he would likely regret later, but Merlin could not bring himself to turn back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is the most lecture-y chapter of the entire fic. We need to set up some background the writers of the show seriously neglected before we get back to the plot. 
> 
> Gaius’ monologue about the Purge is based on a description of the stages of Fascism from Robert Paxton’s Five Stages of Fascism, which is short and easy to find online for anyone interested. I know a medieval monarchy like Camelot can’t technically be fascist, but bear with me, because I think the study of the rise of fascism is more relevant today than ever.
> 
> Paxton’s list of common features of Fascist ideology:  
> 1\. The primacy of the group, toward which one has duties superior to every right, whether universal or individual.  
> 2\. The belief that one’s group is a victim, a sentiment which justifies any action against the group’s enemies, internal as well as external.  
> 3\. Dread of the group’s decadence under the corrosive effect of individualistic and cosmopolitan liberalism.  
> 4\. Closer integration of the community within a brotherhood (fascio) whose unity and purity are forged by common conviction, if possible, or by exclusionary violence if necessary.  
> 5\. An enhanced sense of identity and belonging, in which the grandeur of the group reinforces individual self-esteem.  
> 6\. Authority of natural leaders (always male) throughout society, culminating in a national chieftain who alone is capable of incarnating the group’s destiny.  
> 7\. The beauty of violence and of will, when they are devoted to the group’s success in a Darwinian struggle
> 
> Also, history will imply that the new religion mentioned here is Christianity, but I didn't want to imply Christianity = fascism, so I'm going to keep the description of the Old/New religion divide very generic so you can interpret it however you want.


End file.
